


He's a Taker and You're a Giver (I Hope It Works Out)

by isaac richard (isaacrichard)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, this is just dumbass gay people who are doctors. enjoy it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24465631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacrichard/pseuds/isaac%20richard
Summary: Wilson can't get House off his back.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 124





	He's a Taker and You're a Giver (I Hope It Works Out)

**Author's Note:**

> a house md fic? in 2020???
> 
> social distance has made mad men of us all. title is a line from the glass essay by anne carson.

“You’re insane.”

“Probably,” House says evenly. He emphasizes this by popping a Vicodin, tossing it into the air and catching it in his mouth. He swallows it dry, unflinching.

House looks up at Wilson with his big blue eyes, squinting at him around his pinched crow’s feet. He leans dramatically across Wilson’s desk, stretching and wiggling his fingers as if to catch something.

House’s age was very obvious – he had been a smoker, years ago, despite the irony of being a doctor who lights up. It had left wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, a yellow tint to his fingernails. But he wore it _well._ Despite his intense gaze and use of a cane, House knew how handsome he was.

And he was baiting Wilson with it.

“Cool trick,” Wilson mumbles, rifling through his papers, if only to have something to fidget with. Why was no one paging him? Why was there no cancer emergency? How could the head of oncology get away with having enough free time to be bugged by House?

House smirks. “I can catch other things, too.”

“We’re at work,” Wilson pleads, pissed at how easily his face warms. He gets from his desk and shuffles down the hospital hall, met with that signature smell of antiseptic that he knows so well. It was slow, today, and quiet. Not many visitors on a Wednesday afternoon.

“I know you already did your rounds,” House says, hobbling after him. Wilson pointedly ignores the pain-in-the-ass, attempting to make idle conversation with one of the chattier nurses on the floor. She liked one of the same shitty daytime TV shows he did.

“Hey!” House says, stamping his cane impatiently. The nurse titters, amused, and excuses herself to do the work Wilson so desperately wishes he could take off her hands. He would take a thousand blood tests, change a thousand bed pans, if only House would _leave him alone._

“What is it, House?” Wilson asks in a hoarse, angry whisper. He whips around, suddenly furious. “You want me to let you fuck me in your office? Is that it?”

House leans on his cane, coolly watching as Wilson blows up. He’s somehow taking up all the oxygen in the hall despite it just being the two of them, Wilson is choking on the lack of air. He loses his heat as quickly as he’d found it, like a candle that had been abruptly put out.

It feels a bit like being a spectacle in the town square, with how the hospital rooms surround them. And while House might not care, Wilson’s cheeks heat up. He huffs, adjusts his coat importantly.

“I have stuff to do,” he mutters, and tries to slink past House. No such luck, of course.

House should not be as strong as he is. Wilson should easily be able to push past him, slither back into his office and find something to busy himself with. He should stay as far away from House as humanly possible, because with him, trouble didn’t just follow. It trotted faithfully behind, like a guard dog to the insanity of House’s life.

“Five minutes,” House whispers into his hair. There’s no one around, besides the patients in their rooms, but Wilson doesn’t like the sudden proximity. They weren’t horny teenagers – they were medical professionals. They were at _work._

“Two minutes,” Wilson whines. House’s free hand slinks around his waist, and he lets it.

“What can I possibly do to you in two minutes?” House murmurs. He’s pleased to see Wilson fold, obviously. He loves to win.

He says it like it’s a challenge, and Wilson has the sudden awful image of House blowing him for two minutes straight, only to pop off and wipe his mouth with a smile when Wilson’s proposed time runs out.

He shudders, wondering if House was that much of a sadist. _God._

“I don’t know, but time’s ticking,” Wilson says. House loved to win, and Wilson was a sore loser.

“Who made you king of the stopwatch?” House asks, nudging Wilson’s calves with his cane. “Now giddy-up, cowboy.”

Wilson smiles at the ridiculousness and, reluctantly, gives in to House’s trouble.


End file.
